


Monsterfucker

by ArthurtheGatekeeper



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood, But just a tiny bit, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt is not a monster, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Needs a Hug, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Queer is used to refer to jaskier but he doesn't mind, also the word whore, and jaskier hates when people say he is, but only like a little, jaskier don't care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:40:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23780206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArthurtheGatekeeper/pseuds/ArthurtheGatekeeper
Summary: Jaskier has been called many things over the years. But only one name has him seeing red. Geralt tries to figure out why that name set him off.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 83
Kudos: 1259





	Monsterfucker

Jaskier has been called many things over the years. 

Julian. Son. Brother. Disappointment. Loud. Bold. Annoying. Horny. Asshole. Wifefucker. Lark.

He likes some of them more than others. He blushes and beams at some. Others he laughs off with a cheeky grin and some dramatic flair. He does not let them hurt him anymore. Cause while words have power, he is their master. The story will be remembered in his words, not theirs.

He is a bard after all. 

He has, of course, changed the witcher’s name. It wasn’t as if the man wanted to keep the butcher. He’d made that quite clear. So now he was the white wolf. Hero. Protector of humanity. Friend.

Geralt has never called him friend back of course. He does not take it to heart. The man has very few names for anyone, even his most loyal companion.

After all Roach always has the same name.

But people find plenty of new names for him.

The witcher’s whore seems to be a favorite amongst the bawdier crowds. He doesn’t mind it even if he’s never spread his legs for the man. ‘For such a beauty?’ He whispers conspiratorially to the crowd, ‘I certainly would.’

The names he collects don’t particularly matter. He’ll choose which ones last. He lets even the rudest ones slip off without offence. Not without mockery of the fool who thought he could best a bard. But without offence. 

Except one name.

It’s not til a particularly backwater inn that he hears it. A single table has made its opinion of Geralt rather loudly. He has managed to isolate them fairly well. The other patrons hush them whenever they begin to loudly make their options known unwilling to upset the bard who entertains them.

A fairly standard night all in all. 

He sends Geralt one of his brilliant smiles and a quick wink. Geralt is focused completely on his drink. 

The theatrics are more for the audience then him anyway. Trading rumors of the butcher for the wolf and his bard. 

His bard. Jaskier likes that name.

He passes their table belting out a particularly raunchy line when he hears it. It is cursed under his foul breath. Just for him.

“Monsterfucker.”

Names do not affect Jaskier. He has plenty and many of them were not very nice. He wears them like a badge.

So it is a surprise when the red haze passes and Geralt is holding him off the ground, cursing his name. Blood thrums in his veins. Eager. His knuckles drip onto the floor. His left eye is already bruising.

The man has little more than a split lip.

It is clear who won.

He is screaming something at the man. He has no idea what. The man scrambles back on the floor until his back hits the wall. 

It is clear who won. 

Geralt jerks him back suddenly cutting him off with a firm “Shut Up Jaskier!”

Geralt is dragging him by the doublet out of the bar with one hand. In his other is Jaskier’s Lute, unharmed. The last of the haze dissipates.

Everyone is staring at them as Geralt drags him out. This was not how tonight’s story was meant to go. 

It’s Not.

“Apologies everyone! It seems I must make a hasty departure! You have been a lovely audience!” He calls to the tavern door as it swings closed after them.

Geralt twists him around in his hand so he’s facing forward before dropping him suddenly. 

“Walk” He commands. Jaskier stumbles a few steps before managing it.

He almost starts several conversations. Geralt’s face is hard with anger. They all die on the back of his tongue. 

Geralt had barely started his second drink.

Praise Melitele the Inn was a separate establishment in this town. If he’d cost Geralt both his drink and his bed. Well. I didn’t bare contemplation. 

Geralt stomped to their room and opened the door with too deft fingers. Inn’s like these were meant to be staggered into, the key fumbled, and the bed dropped into. He was far to sober for this place.

Geralt crossed the room and began digging through his pack. Jaskier entered unsure. He didn’t close the door but it clicked closed behind him anyway. He was left standing in the center of the small room. He didn’t know what he was doing.

“Sit.” Geralt motioned to the bed. The only one in the room.

Jaskier sat.

Geralt pulled out bandages and a rag. Collects the wash basin. Starts cleaning the blood off Jaskier’s knuckles.

“That was my first bar fight you know.” He doesn’t know he says that. It’s true. But he doesn’t know why he said it. Everything is getting away from him today. The lack of control curdles in his gut.

Geralt’s large calloused hands are too gentle on his. “I could tell.”

“Oh you could tell huh? Well excuse me for not participating in every fist fighting circuit in Velen. Some of us don’t need to settle our issues with violence Geralt!” 

Geralt lets go of his hand to retrieve a bandage. A fine tremor began running through his muscles. He didn’t need violence. He should have laughed at the man. Played it off as a joke.

He couldn’t.

“Why did you?” Geralt growled. Still angry then. He didn’t wrap the bandages too tight though.

He grit his teeth. Had Geralt heard? The tavern was loud and even his heightened senses couldn’t focus on every conversation at once. He hoped he hadn’t.

“He called me a,” He couldn’t say it. He wouldn’t. It didn’t bare repeating. “A name.” He settled on.

Geralt exhales harshly in disbelief. 

“People call you names all the time.”

Jaskier huffs and turns his head to the wall. He’d not dignify that with a response.

Geralt waits. 

Jaskier will let this conversation lapse and that will be the end of it. Geralt does not care for conversation. This will be the end of this conversation.

“What did he call you?” His teeth grind together as that name settles on his tongue. Foul and putrid. He will not say. Geralt will get frustrated and drop it.

“Queer?” Or not apparently.

Jaskier snaps his head back to Geralt. “Any bard worth their instrument is a little queer Geralt. I don’t give a shit about that.”

Geralt is focused on him. Gold eyes intent on him. Thrill bubbles under the dense layer of anger in his gut at his attention.

“Whore?” He suggests.

“A common enough mistake in profession.” He retorts.

Geralt hesitates. Dread curls his toes. “The witcher’s whore?”

He lets out a hissing laugh of relief, shoving Geralt back lightly before standing up to put his lute back in its case. “Don’t be daft Geralt. I’d be fucking delighted to have you.”

“What’s wrong with monsterfucker then?” Every muscle in his body goes taunt. His hand freezes where it had been reaching for his lute. 

He wouldn’t respond. He’d calm down and tell Geralt he had simply misheard.

One heartbeat passed. 

Two. 

Three.

“Because I am Not.” Bubbles out of his throat around his clenched teeth. There is too much venom in his voice. 

Calm down.

Make a joke.

He forces his arm to move and grab the lute. Make a joke and rob the name of its power.

“I have Seen the monsters you fight.” He managed calmly. “I’ve no interest in griffins, Kikimore or drowners thank you very much!” And he was yelling. He hadn’t meant to yell.

The tremor turned into shaking. He wanted to destroy something. He sets the lute back down. He doesn’t want to hurt her. He would never hurt her.

The floorboards creak as Geralt stands up. “He wasn’t talking about drowners Jaskier.”

“I fucking know that!” He snaps turning to fix Geralt with a glare. 

He can’t hold that gaze. 

His eyes flick to the wall.

Geralt stomps towards him. 

“Then what’s the damn problem Jaskier!” His short nails dig into his palms. Vaguely he thinks the scabs on his knuckles have broken. Geralt continues when it’s clear no answer is forthcoming. “You don’t care when people call you my Goddamn whore so why the hell is Monsterfucker any different!”

“Cause you’re not a goddamn monster Geralt!”

The frustration in those golden eyes melts into confusion. Like he doesn’t understand.

Jaskier wishes he’d killed that man.

Geralt’s face hardens. He catches Jaskier’s hands and pins him against the wall.

“Yes I am.” He leans in. His face a moment from Jaskier’s. “I could take you here and there would be nothing you could do to stop me.”

He scoffs. The hands around his wrist tighten slightly. Geralt could break them easily. 

They won’t even leave bruises. 

“If you thought for even a second you’d hurt me or scared me or done something I’d not wanted you’d run for the hills.”

“You should be scared of me.” Jaskier’s hands are steady for the first time since the bar.

“Then you should have given me something to be scared of.” Geralt’s shake.

“Let me go.”

Geralt lets him go as if burned. He steps back hastily. 

Jaskier chases after him, taking Geralts hands in his as the back of his knees hit the bed. 

“You are not a monster.” Geralt looks so unsure. Jaskier hates that look. 

He pushes Geralt back and he lets himself fall into the bed. Jaskier straddles his thighs and leans over him til their faces are inches apart. He lets one hand go moving it up near Geralts head. He holds himself there. 

“And I would love to have you Geralt.” His eyes search Jaskier desperately trying to find the lie.

But there isn’t one.

He lets out a long forceful exhale, closing his eyes. Trying to calm down. Jaskier cards his hand through the halo of white as he waits.

Geralt squeezes his hand. He squeezes back. He opens his eyes meeting gold to blue.

“Your eye is really swelling up.”

He collapses onto Geralt’s chest with a disgusted scoff. “That’s what I get for trying to be romantic. Yes it does hurt rather a lot.”

“Don’t start anymore fights.”

“It’s not as if I’d intended to Geralt. I am well aware my skills lay with the quill and lute not the sword or fist.” He presses his right ear to Geralt’s chest.

“Hmmm.” The grunt rumbles in his chest. He doesn’t want to move. That was a very nice noise.

He begins to doze. One hand intertwined in Geralt’s. Listening to the slow and steady rhythm of his heart. It was pleasant unlike the throb from his eye or his hands. Or the ache in the small of his back or those sharp points where Geralt’s armor was digging into him. Or the how his shoulder was falling asleep. 

Ok. This might not actually be a very comfortable position.

“Jaskier.” He turned his head so he was facing Geralt. His left eye was mostly swollen shut. He didn’t imagine it looked particularly attractive. Geralt looked stunning. “We should go to bed.”

They were already in bed. But he did rather want to take his doublet off. The lock on the door seemed sturdy enough. Geralt might even be convinced to remove his armor tonight. He raised himself up off of Geralt before he was struck immobile by the vision beneath him.

Geralt was so pretty. His hair spread out behind him. His eyes soft. Relaxed. Gods he loved him so much. 

His eyebrow twitched up questioningly.

“I really want to kiss you.” He winced. Admitting he wanted to fuck Geralt was one thing. This felt like too much. Too personal.

“You can.”

Jaskier blinked down at him. He moved forward til Geralt’s lips were but a breaths away.

“You sure?” Geralt huffed and covered the distance. Lips pressed gently against his.

It was lovely. It was perfect.

Geralt slid a hand into his hair and deepened the kiss. Pushed them up into a sitting position then wrapped that arm around his waist.

No, this was perfect.

Geralt pulled back. That was less perfect.

“Bedtime.” Jaskier groaned and tried to pull him back into the kiss. Geralt pressed a hand into his shoulder halting him. 

“Oh come on Geralt! Don’t tease me like this! Here I was thinking I’d finally earn the title of the witcher’s whore!” He whined.

“I’m not fucking you while your eye swells shut. Get up.”

He huffed. “Fine.” Partially because he didn’t to be deposited roughly on the floor when Geralt decided to stand up. Partially because he did want to be able to see all of Geralt that first time. Mostly because he needed to put his lute away anyway.

Jaskier checked she hadn’t taken any accidental damage during the evening. Luckily she seemed unharmed. He placed her into her case and wished her a good night.

He heard Geralt unbuckling his armor on the bed. The sound emboldened him somewhat.

“You will eventually right? Not tonight but. Someday?” 

He hated how unsure he sounded. It wasn’t like it would change anything if he said no. Before tonight he’d assumed it was a no. He’d stay even If that kiss was the only thing he ever got. It was already so much more than he had thought he would ever get.

But he wanted even more.

He wanted everything Geralt would give him.

Geralt grunted. 

His shoulders slumped. That wasn’t an answer. Which was answer enough. He wouldn’t press. He had already pushed his luck tonight. He removed his doublet and folded it on top of the case.

Geralt let out a heavy sigh. “Yes Jaskier.”

Turning back to Geralt and he smiled. It tugged on his eye painfully but did nothing to diminish the joy and excitement filling his chest. If his steps were closer to skips as he bound across the room neither made mention of it. 

Geralt removed his leather armor and placed it next to the bed as Jaskier wiggled past him to the far side of the bed. Geralt always preferred to be closer to the door. 

He laid down on his side and snuggled into the pillow. The bed creaked behind him as Geralt joined him. The candle went out with a wave of Geralt’s magic hands.

He’d write a song about those hands. Soon as he had some inspiration.

Geralt slung a warm arm over his waist. “Go to sleep Jaskier.”

Warmed by Geralt behind him he closed his eyes and did.

Somehow his bruises seemed to hurt more in the early daylight.

At least the swelling had gone down and he could see clearly out of both of them now. 

The townsfolk were watching them leave from their entryways. Murmuring to each other in an indistinct drawl. 

They always did, Geralt drew attention. 

But it felt like they were looking at him today. 

He forced himself to stand up straight and puff out his chest. They weren’t worth being embarrassed over.

Geralt left out an amused huff.

Wait. Amused?

Yep. That was a smile. Well. More of a slight uptick in the corner of his mouth. Practically a beaming smile for Geralt.

“Well? Don’t keep it to yourself Geralt. What has you dying of laughter over there?”

Geralt Glared at him.

His eyes flicked behind him and the grin returned.

“You’ve got a new title.”

Well that was ominous. 

“Oh? And what might that be, my dear Witcher?”

“The feral bard.”

A hooting laugh escaped him. The townsfolk flinched back at it which only made it harder to stop. 

He liked that name.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey you made it to the end! Great work! This is my first fic so I'd love any feedback and please let me know if i missed any tags! Comments make the world go round! Or at least makes Fanfiction happen  
> I'm abluescarfonwaston on tumblr if you want to visit me over there.


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